Ray's Place: The Cure, Crybabies, Honoring Uncles

Is there a cure for the Cure? Asking for a friend. Thanks!

—bzap

You know what, bzap? I came to terms with The Cure a few years ago, but didn’t tell anybody about it. 

It happened in the drive-thru at Mr. Honchito, that gyoza place down off highway 45. Used to be a Taco Bell? Anyhow, Téodor had fiddled with my Sirius XM and reprogrammed prefix one to be The Cure station instead of the Celebration of Billy Preston’s Nothing From Nothing station, so when I fired up the tunes that weird-ass Lullaby song came on. There I was, gothrolled, cravin’ on dumplings, all wearin’ my white terrycloth Albro Dondini moccasins and those oversize paperboard “2020” New Year’s Eve glasses because it had suddenly got bright and that’s all I could find in the glove box. The silliness of the situation hit me square and took me down a peg, and in that vulnerable moment I was like, the universe just called me out, I am a dork like anybody. It bonded me to those guys, and helped me see the humorous angle of that big rainy act they’re always puttin’ on.   

Why didn’t I tell anybody about this? Well, there ain’t, like, some “gender reveal party” format where you pop a powder-filled balloon in front of all your friends and a big piece of paper that says “I like The Cure now!” falls out. That would have confused my dudes. 

So yeah, these days I’m rollin’ Lullaby dirty in the Escalade, just diggin’ on daylight, straight respectin’ that Robert Smith has cashed a mad stack ’a scratch-offs by stickin’ to his guns (a single tear falls out the end when he pulls the trigger). Would I want to spend time with him if he showed up at my place? No. Not at all. I never wanted to know what Elizabeth Taylor looked like before coffee. 

-=Rrrr-Rrrr-Rrrrrray=-

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Ray, as a man I feel like I don’t cry enough. What are some benefits and drawbacks to me crying?

—Tommy Wingo

Wingo, 

Well, I guess you might lose a tiny amount of weight, but I can’t really endorse it as a fitness routine. Heart-rate wise, I don’t think you’d even get out of Zone 1 unless you included some hefty blubberin’. Like, shake-your-fists-at-the-sky blubberin’. 

Okay, I didn’t try hard enough on my first attempt at this answer. It’s just my masculine nature pushing back on the idea of displaying what most will see as weakness. We evolved since the beginning not to show weakness, because we’d get our asses shredded by the pack if we did, and that hard truth is why any of us are here today. But, can we lighten up a little in the modern world? No. I worry that this country is headed for a civil war or massive comet disaster, and when that happens, Crybaby Carl ain’t gonna get no beans at the tire fire. 

Stay dry, Wingo. 

-=A-Bloo-Bloo-Bloo 4 U-U-U=-

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Dear Ray. I have a bit of a nomenclature situation. My best friend just named his kid after me (gave him my first name as his middle name) and I'm super honored. Thing is, what's the best way to describe my relationship with the kid? I say "Godfather" sometimes but that has unnecessary connotations both religious and Coppolan. I also say Uncle, which honestly works fine enough, but given your gift for neologisms and such I thought I'd ask if you could come up with anything better, as an Uncle yourself.

—Chris Martin

Coldplay Chris (I know it’s you, dogg, DM me, I got a question about player’s block), 

Yeah, “uncle” is the workhorse for the non-blood man, but we can always do better. The idea is that you’re the second-tier support guy in the kid’s life, after his daddy, so you’re basically his Vice Daddy. That has a nice ring to it, and also implies you’re kind of unpredictable and into drugs, just like all true uncles everywhere.  

-=Secret R.=-

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Confidential to PattyKakes: Don't start a small bakery just because you got good feedback from the one friend you made a cake for. You will descend into madness and bankruptcy, and awaken most days on the floor of the shower where you cried yourself to sleep.